Of Passion and Permanence
by DOJ
Summary: "I've been a right berk, Lil. I should've said something earlier. Tonight, or last week. Last month even. I should've said something ages ago." He loosened his grip on her hands, running one of his own through his hair. "Please," he murmured. "Don't give up on us yet."


**A/N: This was written for the lovely Maraudermaniac over on Tumblr as part of the Jily Secret Santa exchange. I hope you all enjoy it!**

**.:.**

The sound of their footsteps reverberated throughout the empty corridor: his a slightly shuffled gait of budding exhaustion, hers the soft and subtle clicking of polished Mary Janes. It had been like this all week—silence and tension and a hint of awkwardness whenever they found themselves alone together. It was easy enough to ignore during the daylight hours, when the corridors were bursting with rowdy first years and gossiping fifth years, but it became all the more noticeable when they found themselves sharing the same library table or closing down the common room with their late night studying. Before what James had taken to mentally referring to as "The Incident," sharing an isolated space with his fellow Head had been both welcome and a comfort, but it now seemed an inescapable burden—one that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he tried.

He often found their Friday night patrols to be the highlight of his week—a break from all the stress that accumulated from his academic, Head, and quidditch duties—but he'd been looking forward to tonight as much as he had O.W.L.s his fifth year. He'd even considered bribing Remus into covering his shift with a bar of Honeydukes' finest, but his Gryffindor pride—and maybe a hint of that famous Potter stubbornness—had won out in the end.

Thirty minutes in, however, and the patrol was going about as poorly as he'd expected. Aside from a polite smile and murmured pleasantries, they'd yet to exchange a word all evening. The good-natured banter and ready witticisms they'd come to enjoy over the past few months had fallen by the wayside in favor of poorly stolen glances and the subsequent aversion of eyes and shuffles of embarrassment. James wracked his brain for something to say, some pithy remark he could offer up in the hopes of a surprised laugh, or even an involuntary smile, but everything seemed trite in the wake of The Incident.

"So," Lily suddenly broke the strained silence with what James had come to notice as forced nonchalance. "The first Hogsmeade trip's next weekend." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind a lightly freckled ear and snuck a quick glance at James from under her eyelashes.

He could feel his heart begin to race even before the blood began pounding in his ears. Of all the conversation starters, he hadn't been expecting this. Not from her. He forced himself to exhale, to regulate his breathing, lest she pick up on his sudden loss of composure.

"Connolly's asked me." Her cheeks flushed a brilliant pink as she stole another glance his way.

The words crashed against James's ears with skull-shattering force. He stared fixedly at a point above her head and tried to breathe steadily through his nose as he watched the torchlight flicker across stone. "Oh?" He hoped his voice didn't sound as strangled to her as it did to him.

She nodded. "I told him I'd have to think about it."

"Hmm."

She pursed her lips—the way she always did when James said something she didn't agree with—and shifted her weight over her left foot, jutting her hip out slightly. James swallowed hard, trying not to let his eyes linger at the soft curve of her waist or the way the movement had caused a lock of hair to fall over her left eye. Even when she was frustrating as hell, the girl was damned beautiful.

"Hmm?" She mimicked, imbuing the sound with more sarcasm than one syllable should rightfully posses.

James was well familiar with this pattern: first the disapproving look, then the sarcastic tone, next she would start fidgeting—with the tap of a foot or the drum of her fingers—before clenching her hands into tight fists at her side. He recognized each action as a warning sign, with each progression as an acknowledgement that he had less of a chance of leaving the conversation unscathed. Over the past year he'd become ace at backpedalling the moment she pursed her lips—while he did love to see Lily riled, he'd learned it did nothing but strain their relationship as Head students—but lately he seemed to be triggering the signs without any indication as to why.

"He's a decent enough bloke; helluva beater." James shrugged.

"So you think I should say yes." Her voice was flat, her eyes narrowed, and James could begin to feel the irritation building within him, crawling under his skin with a scalding heat.

He shrugged again and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Dunno what you need my opinion for, _Evans_." The familiarity of her surname felt bitter on his tongue, and he took perverse pleasure in watching her flinch. "You've never cared for it before."

He watched as Lily's face flushed a deeper hue, as her hands formed tiny fists clenched tight beside her thighs, and mentally braced himself for the inevitable tirade. She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of it, and suddenly deflated with a soft shake of her head. "We're never going to talk about it," her voice was soft, her eyes downcast, "Are we?"

James reeled inwardly as the blood resumed pounding in his ears, furiously loud. He swallowed once, then twice, trying to clear his throat and pop his ears. "It?" He scratched the back of his neck, studiously avoiding what he was sure were her disappointed eyes.

He knew what she was referring to, of course. The Incident was all he'd been able to think about since it had happened. The two of them had been alone in the common room, well past the time when all other students had gone to bed. He had been drawing up strategies for the following day's quidditch practice, while she had been adding last minute revisions to an Advanced Charms essay. As the minutes ticked ever further past midnight, they'd found themselves collapsing on a shared sofa, momentarily too exhausted to drag themselves the few feet to their respective dormitories.

They had been giddy with sleep deprivation and a particularly lame joke on James's part had had Lily bent over with laughter. His arm had slid around her back and down her shoulder, and her face had become buried in his chest, her fingers curled tightly in his jumper as tears leaked down her freckled cheeks. Somehow his hands had become tangled in her hair, and she'd looked up at him with eyes wide and bright, and he'd felt his heart slam forcefully against his ribs. Somewhere along the way she had stopped laughing, and her bow lips had parted ever so slightly, her little pink tongue darting out to wet them. James wasn't sure if he had leaned forward or if she had tilted her chin upwards, but he had suddenly become wholly aware of her breath hot against his lips, and her wide, bright eyes gazing up at him with a heated intensity he'd never seen directed at him.

It had been the slam of a door somewhere amongst the dormitories that had sent them both reeling backwards, as though their intimacy had produced a scalding heat. She had flushed a rosy hue straight to the roots of her hair and he had stuttered some half-arsed excuse about needing to be up early, and the two had promptly fled to their respective dormitories.

James had been simultaneously relieved and disappointed when Lily hadn't immediately sought him out the following morning. As the week had progressed, however, the relief had faded and the disappointment had festered into growing frustration. He had many a mental conversation with the Lily in his head—all of which had ended in a passionate snog—but had yet to summon the courage or stupidity to enact any of them in reality. However, not a single one of his imagined conversations had begun with Lily initiating the confrontation. And yet here they were, standing in a drafty corridor in the middle of patrols, tension palpitating between them as memories of The Incident unfolded.

Lily stared at him for a moment, eerily calm, her bright eyes assessing him quietly. Evidently she found him to be lacking, for she slowly shook head. "I'll finish with the third floor. You can take the Charms corridors, yeah?" She turned on her heel without waiting for an answer, her skirt twisting about her knees and flouncing slightly at the back as she strode off, leaving James blinking behind her.

It took less than half a second for the full force of James's stupidity to come crashing around him in a soul-crushing revelation. He was down the corridor in a sprint before she had even rounded the corner.

"Lily, wait—" He reached out a hand, but she whirled around before he could grasp her arm, her hair whipping him violently across the face.

"James—"

"Don't." He took a step forward and Lily, suddenly wild-eyed, took one back. "Don't go with Connolly."

"I—what?" She started, blinking rapidly at him. She took another step backwards and nearly collided with the stone wall behind her.

James could feel the smile tugging at his lips as he took a step closer. Confident now, he reached toward her again and took her hands in his own. "Don't go with Connolly," he repeated. "To Hogsmeade. Go with me."

"James, I—" she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and worried it gently.

"I've been a right berk, Lil. I should've said something earlier. Tonight, or last week. Last month even. I should've said something ages ago." He loosened his grip on her hands, running one of his own through his hair. "Please," he murmured. "Don't give up on us yet."

She stood silently for a moment, watching him with eyes that seemed startling bright in the corridor torchlight. He could sense her hesitation, could see her wavering as her eyes darted between his and floor. She inhaled deeply, rising up and squaring her shoulders as she met his gaze. "And what would you have me tell Connolly?"

He smirked slightly, and could tell she was struggling to suppress her own smile. He glanced down at her bow lips, waiting for that pert tongue to dart out again. He leaned forward until he was a breath's width away from her lips and murmured, "Tell him this."

This time, James didn't give Lily the chance to pull away. He didn't care that they were in the middle of a public corridor, that if a professor or errant student happened upon them all they would see was the Head Boy flush against the Head Girl with her fingers in his hair and his hands on her hips. He wasn't about to miss what could be his very last chance of kissing Lily Evans.

Her lips were soft beneath his own and he could feel her smiling against his mouth. She was perfect, this girl, with the way she brazenly brushed her tongue along his lip and roughly tugged his head closer to hers. He could feel the laughter bubbling up within him and in that instant he knew that every moment with Lily would be like this, wild and passionate and messy and so full of emotion that he wasn't certain he could feel anything more.

After what felt simultaneously to be an eternity and mere seconds, Lily broke away and, with a breath that was half exhalation and half laugh, she rested her forehead against James's chin. "You make a very interesting argument, Mr. Potter. Though I'm not sure Connolly will be quite as impressed."

James chuckled, drawing her closer and tucking her head neatly beneath his chin. "You can give him the condensed version."

"Hmm," she hummed quietly against him, slipping her arms about his waist. "And what would that be?"

He dropped a kiss to her forehead. "That you are hopelessly and irrevocably crazy about your co-head."

"Irrevocably, huh?"

"Mmhmm. Means it's permanent."

"Prat," she laughed softly. "I guess I'll have to go to Hogsmeade with you, then."

"Right you are, love."

She let loose a theatric sigh and allowed her body to sag against him. "Poor Connolly," she shook her head melodramatically, "I hope he doesn't take the rejection too hard."

James grinned down at her devilishly. "I'm sure he'll be able to find someone else. After all," he leaned in for another kiss, fully intending to spend the remainder of their patrol snogging in the corridor. "He is a helluva beater."


End file.
